(_Fam._, XXIV, 12)
I have long desired to address thee in writing, and would have done
so without hesitation if I had had a ready command of thy tongue.
But alas! Fortune was unkind to me in my study of Greek.[109] Thou,
on the other hand, seemest to have forgotten the Latin which it was
formerly customary for our authors to bring to thy assistance, but
which their descendants have failed to place at thy disposal.[110]
And so, excluded from the one and the other means of communication, I
kept my peace.
One man has once again restored thee to our age as a Latin.[111] Thy
Penelope did not longer nor more anxiously await her Ulysses than I
thee. My hopes, indeed, had been deserting me one by one. Excepting
the opening lines of several books of thy poem,[112] wherein I beheld
thee as one sees, from a distance, the doubtful and rapid look of a
wished-for friend, or perhaps, catches a glimpse of his streaming
hair--with this exception, then, no portion of thy works had come
into my hands in Latin translation. Nothing, in fine, warranted the
hope that I might some day behold thee nigh at hand. For that little
book which commonly passes as thine, though it is clearly taken from
thee and is inscribed with thy name, is nevertheless not thine.[113]
Who the author of it may be is not certain. That other person
(to whom I have already referred) will restore thee to us in thy
entirety, if he lives.[114] Indeed, he has already begun his task,
in order that we may derive pleasure not merely from the excellent
contents of thy divine poem, but also from the charms of conversing
with thee. The Greek flavor has recently been enjoyed by me from a
Latin flagon.[115]
This experience brought forcibly home to me the fact that a vigorous
and keen intellect can all things. Cicero was, in many instances,
merely an expounder of thy thoughts; Vergil was even more frequently
a borrower; both, however, were the princes of the Latin speech. And
though Annaeus Seneca assert that Cicero loses all his eloquence when
dabbling in verse and that Vergil’s felicity of expression deserts
him when venturing into the realms of prose,[116] still I maintain
that it is but right that each of them be compared with himself and
not with the other. From such comparison it would clearly result
that each should be considered as having fallen below his own highest
level. Judged by themselves, I insist that I have read verses of
Cicero that are not mere doggerel, and prose letters of Vergil that
are not disagreeable.[117]
I am now experiencing the same emotions in thy case, for thy great
work, too, is a poetical masterpiece. In obedience to the maxim
laid down by St. Jerome (a Latin author of exceptional skill in
languages), I wrote once upon a time that if thou wert to be
translated literally, not merely into Latin prose, but even into
Greek prose, from being most eloquent of poets thou wouldst be made
of none effect.[118] Now, on the contrary, thou dost still retain
thy hidden power to please, though turned into prose, and what is
more, into Latin prose.[119] This fact compels admiration. Whatever,
therefore, may be said of me, let no one marvel that I have addressed
Vergil in verse, but thee in the more tractable and yielding
prose.[120] Him I addressed of my own free will; in thy case, I am
answering a letter received.[121] Furthermore, with Vergil I employed
the idiom which we possessed in common; with thee I have adopted,
not thy ancient language, but a certain new speech in which the
letter I received was couched, a speech which I use daily, but which
is not, I suppose, the one to which thou art accustomed.
But after all, why should I dignify my talk with both of you by
giving it the name conversation? Our very best must appear to you
mere prattle and chattering. Ye are unapproachable; ye are more than
mortal, and your heads pierce the clouds. Yet it is with me as with a
babe: I love to babble with those who feed me, even though they are
skilled masters of speech. But enough on the subject of style. I now
come to the contents of thy letter.
Thou dost complain of several things, and as a matter of fact thou
couldst with almost perfect justice complain of everything. What in
this world, pray, can escape just complaint? This exception, however,
must be borne in mind: the moment laments begin to be ineffectual,
they somehow cease to be justifiable. Thy grievances, indeed, do not
lack a just cause, but they are without their desired effect, which
is that, while condemning the past, they should provide some remedy
for the present and make some provision for the future. Considering,
however, that the expression of our grievances does in truth relieve
the burden of our sorrow for the time being, clamoring cannot be said
to be altogether of no avail. At present, O great one, thy soul is
overburdened with grief. Thy long letter is one connected series of
complaints, and yet I would it had been longer. Only tediousness and
lack of interest can cause anything to seem long.
Permit me, now, to touch briefly upon the various details. What
thou didst write of thy teachers filled me, who am so greedy for
knowledge and learning, with boundless and incredible joy. Hitherto,
I confess, they were absolutely unknown to me; but hereafter, thanks
to their renowned disciple, they will be honored and worshiped by
me. Thy letter touches upon matters entirely new to us: on the
origin of poetry, which thou dost trace to its most ancient sources;
on the earliest followers of the Muses, among whom, in addition to
the well-known dwellers upon Helicon, thou dost class Cadmus son
of Agenor, and a certain Hercules, whether Alcides or not appears
doubtful. I am glad to receive knowledge concerning the city of thy
birth; for we had cloudy and hazy views thereupon, and (I see) even
you Greeks were none too clear of the subject.[122] Furthermore,
thou dost describe thy pilgrimages undertaken in search of knowledge
into Phoenicia and Egypt whither, several centuries afterward, the
illustrious philosophers Pythagoras and Plato journeyed, and he who
gave laws to the Athenians and who later in life became a devotee of
the Pierides, the learned and venerable Solon. During life he was a
great admirer of thine, and after death he must have become thy very
intimate friend. Finally, thou dost inform us of the number of thy
books, many of which were unknown even to the Italians, thy nearest
neighbors. As to these barbarians by whom we are encircled--and I
would that we were cut off from them, not merely by the lofty Alps,
but indeed by the whole expanse of the broad ocean--as to these
barbarians, they have not heard of thy name even, much less of the
number of thy books. Let this serve as a proof unto men of how
evanescent a dream is fame, for which we toil so breathlessly.
Thou didst add a very sad and bitter touch to so much that was truly
pleasing, when thou didst mention the loss of those same books. Oh
unhappy me, thrice unhappy! How many, many things are lost! Nay, all
things perish--all that our own blind activity accomplishes ’neath
the course of the ever-returning sun. Vain are the labors and cares
of men! Time flies, and, short as it is, we waste it. Oh, the vanity
and pride of men over the nothingness that we are and do and hope
for! Who will now place confidence in a dim ray of light? The supreme
Sun of eloquence has himself suffered eclipse. Who will now dare to
mourn the partial loss of his own works? Who will now dare cherish
the hope that any fruit of his labors will endure forever?
The fruits of Homer’s sleepless toil have perished in large measure.
Not ours the fault, for no one can lose that which he does not
possess. The Greeks themselves are to blame. That they might not
yield the palm to us in any phase of life whatsoever, they have
exceeded even our sloth and neglect in the domain of letters, and
have suffered themselves to lose many of Homer’s books, which were to
them as so many rays of glory. Such blindness makes them unworthy of
the boast that they once produced so luminous a star.
Again, I was deeply stirred by what thou didst relate concerning thy
end. Even among us the accepted story of thy death was widespread.
I myself gave it currency on occasion, adhering to the common
version, ’tis true, but yet adding to it a note of uncertainty.[123]
For it gave me pleasure, and (with thy kind leave) it still
gives me pleasure, to entertain a better opinion of thee and of
Sophocles.[124] I am unwilling to believe that grief and joy--those
most disturbing passions of the mind--could have held such powerful
sway over such divine intellects. Similarly, if we are to believe
common hearsay, Philemon died of laughter. But we have at last become
acquainted with a more serious and more credible version: that his
death followed a period of unconsciousness due, not to excessive
laughter (as report would have it), but to the wasting and sapping
effects of a most profound meditation.[125]
But to return to thee alone and to thy death--how violent and how
lengthy are thy lamentations! Calm thyself, I beg of thee. Thou wilt
succeed, I am sure, if thou wilt banish thy passions and return to
thy proper self. Much dost thou complain of thy imitators, much of
those who scoffed at and reviled thee. Just complaints these, if,
indeed, thou wert the only one to suffer such treatment; if scoffing
and reviling were vices unknown to man, instead of their being (as
they surely are,) well-worn and common traits. Hence it is that thou
must fain bow to the inevitable--thou who art the foremost of this
class, I grant thee, but yet not a class in thyself.
What, in truth, am I to say on this subject? When thou didst behold
thyself soaring so high on the wings of fancy, thou shouldst have
foreseen that thou wouldst never lack imitators. Surely it must be
gratifying to thee that many should wish to resemble thee. Very few,
however, find it possible. Forsooth, why shouldst thou not rejoice,
conscious as thou art of ever holding the first place? Even I, the
least among men, not only rejoice, but, as if rejoicing were not
sufficient, glory and boast that I am now held in such esteem that
some (if some there be) hope to follow in my footsteps and to fashion
as I have fashioned. Indeed, my joy would be the greater were my
imitators such as ultimately to surpass me. I do not address my vows
to that Apollo of thine; but I pray and beseech my God, the true God
of genius, to grant that, if there be anyone who has deemed me a
worthy pattern to follow, he may overtake me with easy efforts and
indeed outstrip me. I shall consider that I have wrought gloriously
and effectively if I discover among my friends many who are my
equals--and I call them friends because no one will desire to model
himself after me unless he love me. Still more fortunate shall I deem
myself if I recognize superiors among those who, having been content
to follow for a time, later lead the way as conquerors. For if a
father desires that the child of his flesh and blood be greater than
himself, what should the author wish for the child of his intellect?
And since thou canst entertain no fear of a greater or superior, bear
with thy imitators patiently and calmly.
In the books of the _Saturnalia_ there is an unsettled discussion on
the question of superiority between thee and that one of whom thou
dost complain so bitterly, Vergil.[126] There are some among us who
consider the issue a doubtful one; others award the crown to Vergil
without hesitation. I tell thee this, not because I favor or oppose
the one or the other judgment, but that thou mayst know what and how
varying opinions posterity holds of thee.
And here, O best of leaders, my conscience bids me, before proceeding
farther, to undertake the defense of Vergil himself--a soul (as
Flaccus says)[127] the like of which this earth has ne’er produced
more spotless. What thou didst say of his imitating thee is not
merely true, but forms part of common knowledge. Moreover, many other
true things might have been said by thee, but respect (or was it
modesty?) forbade. Thou wilt find all the various points discussed in
order in the _Saturnalia_. There too thou wilt find the sharp retort
of Vergil, who, when charged by his rivals with having stolen verses
from thee, answered that it was a sign of great power to wrest the
club from the hands of Hercules.[128] I am quite certain that thou
wilt detect the veiled pungency of this witticism.
I by no means intend to incriminate him whom I set out to defend, as
so many do. I frankly admit the truth of all thou sayest. Still, I
cannot listen calmly to thy complaint, when thou sayest that though
Vergil is overladen and bedecked with thy spoils he nowhere deigns
to make mention of thy name. Thou dost adduce the opposite case of
Lucan (and with perfect right) who in grateful words acknowledges his
indebtedness to the bard of Smyrna.[129] Let me add further instances
in favor of thy side. Flaccus frequently refers to thee, and always
in noble words; for on one occasion he exalts thee above the
philosophers themselves, and on another he assigns to thee the most
honored seat among the poets.[130] Naso mentions thee, and Juvenal,
and Statius. But why should I rehearse the long list of those who
make mention of thee? Practically not a single one of our authors has
been thus forgetful.
Why then, thou wilt say, should I bear the ingratitude of him alone
who deservedly should have been the most grateful of all? Before
answering, let me heap coals of fire on thy wounded feelings. Do not
by any mischance suppose that Vergil was similarly ungrateful to all.
Know that he mentions--and not once merely--Musaeus and Linus and
Orpheus; and what is more, that he pays the greatest deference to
the poets Hesiod the Ascraean and Theocritus the Syracusan. Finally,
he does not omit mention even of Varus and Gallus and of other
contemporaries--a thing which jealousy would never have permitted,
had he harbored such base feeling.
What now? Do I not seem to have aggravated the causes of that plaint
which I had proposed to lessen or entirely to remove? Yes, if I were
to stop at this point. But thou must hear me out. We must examine all
the circumstances and bring to bear all our reasoning faculties,
especially since we are to sit as judges.
Vergil naturally makes mention of Theocritus in the _Bucolics_,
because he had taken him as his model; and likewise, in the
appropriate place in the _Georgics_, he speaks of Hesiod.[131] And
then thou wilt ask, “Why does he make no mention of me anywhere in
his heroic poem, seeing that he had chosen me as his third model?”
Believe me, Homer; had not wicked death prevented, Vergil would have
given thee due honor, for he was the most gentle and modest of men,
and (as we read) a man of irreproachable life. Others he honored
when the opportunity presented itself and in those places where it
suited his convenience. For thee, to whom he was most heavily in
debt, he was reserving a place, not selected by circumstances, but
destined and marked out after due deliberation. Which place, dost
thou suppose? Which but the most distinguished and conspicuous? The
end of his illustrious poem it was that he had reserved for thee.
There he had destined to hail thee as his leader and in sonorous
lines to exalt thy name to the stars. What place more worthy, I ask,
in which to praise the leader of our journey? Thou hast good cause,
therefore, for mourning the over-early death which cut off Vergil,
and the Italian world shares thy grief; but thou canst have no
grievances against thy friend.
I shall cite a very close and similar example to prove the truth of
my previous remarks. Even as Vergil took thee as his model, so he in
his turn was chosen by Papinius Statius, whom I have mentioned above,
a man renowned not merely for his intellectual powers but also for
the singular charm of his manners. And still he did not acknowledge
the great leader of his genius until the end of his poetical journey.
For, though he had already and in a less conspicuous place declared
himself inferior to Vergil in style, it was only at the close that he
openly and in good faith paid the full debt of his grateful soul to
the author of the _Aeneid_.[132] If, then, death had untimely laid
its hands upon Statius, Vergil also would have been unsung by his
grateful follower, even as thou by him.
I should wish thee to be persuaded that it is as I say. For it is
surely so, unless I am deceived by false signs; and even if it were
otherwise, the more favorable of two opinions is the one to be
preferred when in doubt. All the arguments I have advanced thus far
are, of course, in extenuation of the chief works of Vergil. For if
thou turnest thy attention to the short poems which are called his
earlier works--clearly his first youthful efforts--thou wilt there
find mention of thy name.[133]
It now remains for me to touch lightly upon the minor complaints
scattered here and there throughout the body of thy letter. Thou
grievest that thou hast been mangled and dismembered by thy
imitators. It had needs be so, Homer. No man’s intellect was
sufficiently vigorous to grasp thee whole. Thou dost wax indignant,
moreover, that they should shower abuse upon thee though clothed
in thy spoils.[134] Alas! it is only what thou must expect; no one
can be particularly ungrateful except him who has previously been
the recipient of a great boon. Thy next charge is that, whereas thy
name was held in great honor by the early jurists and physicians, to
their successors it has become a subject of mockery and contempt.
Thou dost not observe how different the later generations are from
the preceding. If they were of a like stamp, they would love and
cherish the same things. Let thy indignation cease, and thy sorrow as
well. On the contrary, take comfort in hoping for the best. To be in
disfavor with the wicked and the ignorant is the first sign of virtue
and intelligence. The radiance of thy genius is so brilliant that
our weak sight cannot endure it. It is with thee as with the sun,
for which it is not reckoned a disgrace but praise most high, that
it conquers the vision of the weak and puts to flight the birds of
night. Among the ancients, and indeed also among men of today--if any
there are in whom there still lives even a small spark of our early
nature--thou must be esteemed not merely a holy philosopher (as thou
thyself sayest[135]) but greater and superior to any philosopher, as
I have said above.[136] Thou dost cover a most beautiful philosophy
with a very charming and transparent veil.
Assuredly thou canst have no concern for the disesteem in which thou
art held by the monstrous men of today. Indeed, it is most earnestly
to be desired that thou shalt continue to displease them, for this is
the first step to glory. The second step is not to have one’s merits
acknowledged. Dismiss therefore, I beg of thee, all care and sorrow,
and return to that deserved seat of honor in the Elysian Fields which
thou didst formerly hold and whence thou sayest thou wert driven by
such trifling absurdities. It is not fitting that the composure of
the sage should be dispelled by the affronts of fools. Otherwise what
would be the result? What would ever put an end to the evil, since
the Hebrew philosopher most verily hath said, “The number of fools is
infinite”?[137] No truer word could have been spoken. Do not all the
streets and homes and public squares attest it?
Thy next grievance is, to my mind, a cause for great joy and for
sincere happiness, though thou seemest to be so enraged by it. Even
sweets taste bitter to him who has a disordered stomach. Thou dost
weep when it had been more appropriate to rejoice. Thou dost weep
because our common friend (whom thou takest to be a Thessalian and
whom I have always thought a Byzantine[138]) has compelled thee to
enter within the walls of my flourishing native city, to live among
strangers or (if thou dost insist) to live the life of an exile. Rest
assured that he has done and is doing so in the greatest good faith
and out of sincerest love for thee. By his labor he has commenced
to endear himself to all who cherish thy name, and who, though few
in number, still do exist. See to it, therefore, that thou dost not
nourish any resentment against that very person to whom we--lovers
all of thee--are giving thanks both in our name and in thine. If
fortune befriend his undertaking, he will restore thee to us and to
the Ausonian Muses, who have so long been seeking to know thee.
Cease wondering that the valley of Fiesole and the banks of the Arno
can boast of but three who are thy friends. It is enough; it is much;
yes, it is more than I had hoped for, to have found three Pierian
spirits in a city so given over to Mammon. But do not despair. The
city is a large and populous one; seek and thou wilt find a fourth.
To these I should add a fifth--for he surely deserves it--him I
mean whose brow was garlanded with the Penean or Alphean laurels.
But I know not how it is that we have been deprived of him by the
Babylon across the Alps. Does it seem to thee nothing wonderful to
encounter five such men at one time and in one city? Seek elsewhere,
and what hast thou? That famous Bologna for which thou dost sigh,
most generous seat of learning as it is, can produce but one, though
thou shouldst search it from end to end. Verona, boasts of two, and
Sulmona of one. Also Mantua might vaunt of one, if his theological
studies did not draw him away from earthly matters; for he has
deserted thy ensigns and has ranged himself beneath those of Ptolemy.
Wonderful to relate, Rome herself, the head and center of all
things, has been drained of such citizens almost to a man. Perugia
did have one who gave great promise of the future, but he neglected
opportunities for developing his better self. He has abandoned not
only Parnassus, but the Apennines and the Alps as well, and is now,
in his old age, roaming about Spain, scratching away at parchments
to earn his livelihood as a scribe. Other cities gave birth to
other friends of thine, but all whom I became acquainted with have
departed from this mortal habitation for that universal and eternal
city.[139] This, then, is what I am leading up to: that thou shouldst
not continue to complain of one who is indeed thy friend, since he
has brought thee to a country boasting of only a few friends and
admirers, it is true, but still of more such than thou wouldst find
today in any other land.
Art thou, perchance, unaware how few scholars there have been at all
times, even in our country? Unless I am mistaken, this same friend
of ours is at this time the only scholar in all Greece. My late
teacher was a second.[140] But alas! he died after having raised
within me most pleasing hopes of ultimate success, leaving me at
the mere threshold of such studies. Indeed, even before his death he
had left me to shift for myself; for, having regard for his rather
than for my own advantage, I had added my influence to procure his
elevation to a bishopric. Therefore, Homer, bear up with this small
handful of followers and grant to an enfeebled and declining age
the same indulgence which thou wouldst have granted to a strong and
flourishing one.
Formerly there were a few who highly valued the ennobling study of
letters. Today their number is sadly diminished, and I predict that
shortly they will have disappeared entirely.[141] It is best to
abide with these few as eagerly as may be, and pray do not for one
instant harbor the thought of exchanging our stream for any larger
channel. Thou art no mere mariner, nor fisherman; nay, if the report
be true (and I would it were false) thy intercourse with that tribe
was none too auspicious.[142] The small Castalian fount and the low
and humble Helicon once did give thee pleasure. May our Arno and our
hills be as fortunate, where noble intellects abound like the gushing
waters of the hills and where the sweetly singing nightingales
build their nests. These are few indeed, I confess; but to repeat,
if thou surveyest the land far and near, they will appear relatively
many. Outside of these few singers what dost thou hope to find in
our population except fullers, weavers, and smiths? Not to mention
impostors, whom wilt thou come upon except publicans, thieves of
various kinds, thousands of frauds and cheats, hostile factions that
never hesitate to resort to deceitful means, the anxious avaricious
and their vain struggles, and the rank scum that pursues the
mechanical trades? Among such as these thou must needs endure all
scoffing with unruffled brow, as an eagle among the night-owls, as
a lion among apes. In their presence thou must repeat what Ennius,
greatly thy inferior, once said: “I flit about in life on the lips
of (learned) men.”[143] Let the lips of the untaught continue to
disclose their ignorance and utter vain gossip. Let them remain in
ignorance of thee and thy works, or, knowing, let them revile. Praise
from such lips would be blasphemy indeed.
I come now to myself, so that, being the least in intellect and in
years, I may also form the last topic of my letter. In thy adversity
thou dost beg me to come to thy aid. Oh, cruel and inexorable fate!
In succoring so great a man as thou I could forever boast of a better
claim to glory than any I have yet attained or hope to attain. I call
Christ to witness--a God to thee unknown--that there is absolutely
nothing which I can offer for thy relief except affectionate, tender
pity and loyal advice. What assistance, indeed, can be received from
one who can do nothing for himself? Hast thou not heard that even
thy followers were reviled out of hatred for thy name, and that they
were judged insane by an assembly of insane? If this could happen in
thine own age and in Athens, most cultured of cities, what dost thou
suppose will be the case today with other poets in cities entirely
devoted to the pursuit of pleasure? I am one of those at whom the
vulgar and the ignorant aim their shafts. I am astonished and wonder
why it is so. If only I had given cause for some justifiable hatred!
But it matters not how just the cause may or may not have been; the
reality of their hatred is undeniable. And is it on my bosom, then,
that thou wouldst seek refuge? Oh, insensate turn of fortune’s wheel!
No palace could be sufficiently spacious and resplendent for thee,
Homer, if great intellects were to strive for such material honors
as fortune can bestow. But not so: genius spurns the turrets and
castles of the ignorant, and delights in the lonely and lowly hut.
For my part, although I do not consider myself worthy of so great
a guest, I have already harbored thee at my home both in Greek and
(as far as it was possible) in Latin.[144] I trust to have thee
entire before long, provided thy Thessalian will complete what he
has begun.[145] Know, however, that thou art to be received in an
even more sacred inclosure: I have made preparations to welcome thee
with the greatest eagerness and devotion to the innermost recesses
of my heart. In a word, my love for thee is greater and warmer than
the rays of the sun, and my esteem such that no one could cherish a
greater.
This is all I have been able to offer thee, leader and father. Any
attempt to free thee from the scorn of the rabble would result in
detracting from thy singular and peculiar praise. Moreover, it is a
task beyond my powers and those of any other, except perhaps of that
man who will have sufficient strength to curb the passions of the
mob. And although God has such power, He has not exerted it in the
past, nor do I think He is likely to do so hereafter.
I have spoken at great length as if thou wert present. Emerging now
from those very vivid flights of the imagination, I realize how very
far removed thou art, and I fear lest it may be annoying to thee
to read so lengthy a letter in the dim light of the lower world. I
reassure myself when I remember that also thy letter was long.
Farewell forever. And when thou wilt have returned to thy seat of
honor, pray give kindly greetings to Orpheus, Linus, Euripides, and
the rest.
_Written in the world above, in that city lying between the famous
rivers Po, Ticino, Adda, and others, whence some say Milan derives
its name, on the ninth of October in the thirteen hundred and
sixtieth year of this last era._